Goldenblue Summer
by Infamousplot
Summary: Everything moves slower in the Summer. Almost like it's running on another world's time. Lazy, hazy, living in a separate existence until the leaves start to change. They're living on borrowed time, in a borrowed life, but it doesn't matter. No one will remember once these days are over, so no one else can decide how they spend them. Gilgamesh/Lancer, 30 Kisses Challenge.
1. Radio Casette Tape

**Title: **Goldenblue Summer**  
Challenge:** 30 Kisses Challenge  
**Prompt:** Radio-Cassette Player  
**Fandom:** Fate/Stay Night  
**Pairing:** Gilgamesh/Lancer  
**Rating:** T for language and mild sexual themes, may go up in later chapters, we'll see what happens.

**Summary: **Everything moves slower in the Summer. Almost like it's running on another world's time. Lazy, hazy, living in a separate existence until the leaves start to change. They're living on borrowed time, in a borrowed life, but it doesn't matter. No one will remember once these days are over, so no one else can decide how they spend them.

x

* * *

"Why exactly do you have this?" Cu asked, watching in mild boredom as Gilgamesh fiddled angrily with a little plastic rectangle. It looked vaguely familiar, not from his own memories but from the ones the grail had implanted in him, and if Gilgamesh had it then it was probably a noteworthy object. After all, the guy prided himself on owning everything worth having- and that didn't limit him to the sorts of treasures you'd expect, like weapons and jewels. Cu had seen him pull ancient looking computers and gaming consoles from that Gate, older models of cars and planes... he had every notable creation ever made by man, it seemed.

"For the same reason I have anything," Gilgamesh snapped in response, spinning one of the little plastic gears with his finger. "Because it is worth having."

"Ok, let me rephrase that- why are you bringing it out _now?_" Lancer sighed, rolling his eyes.

It was summer, painstakingly hot, and even with the setting sun it didn't seem to be getting any cooler. He and Gilgamesh had been sitting on the church's porch since dawn, small fans and popsicle sticks littered around them. The radio had been crackling some stale talkshow, but now it was only static. Lancer had fiddled wih it, Gilgamesh had fiddled with it, and now he seemed to have given up, and was fiddling with... whatever that thing was.

Gilgamesh heaved a dramatic sigh, then shot him a weary look.

"If you must know, this is a cassette. It has music on it, and it's the only thing this old bauble-" he prodded the radio with his foot, causing it to spit more static- "will play. I'm growing tired of the silence."

"Aw, and here I thought you loved our scintillating conversations!" Lancer pouted, flopping down with mock offense.

"Do you even know the definition of scintillating, I wonder?" Gilgamesh mused, eyes focused on the shimmering tape that dangled from the cassette wth a laser-like focus.

"Something to do with stars." Cu shrugged. His bare arms had stuck to the wooden floor with sweat, making gross _rip_ sounds when he shifted. "I use it right?"

Gilamesh didn't answer, which could have meant either a yes or a no, but probably meant that he just didn't care. He wasn't exactly invested in much of what Lancer had to say. He was much more interested in listening to himself talk, it seemed.

There was a small snap and a tiny curse, followed by the sound of plastic against hardwood, and Cu turned his head just in time to catch a limpse of the cassette skittering across the floor. It slid right out the door, off the patio and into the tall grass. He watched it, staring into the yard after it had disappeared.

"Blasted thing!" Gilgamesh snarled. He seemed to be bristling, shooting daggers with his eyes- which was a nice alternative from his usual shooting of actual daggers.

The radio continued to crackle as the cicadas joined its tune, filling the evening with a rather peaceful white noise. Lancer sighed, crossing his arms behind his head and smiling. Even in the heat, this was a wonderful break from their usual schedules.

"You think Kirei's gonna chew us out for having the doors open all day?" he asked, looking up at the ceiling. There were a couple of moths clinging there, wings quivering sluggishly as the sun sank further and the night got closer. The fake ass priest had been gone all day, which was almost enough to make up for the fact that he'd had no one else to hang out with besides Gilgamesh. Which, considering the circumstances, wasn't the worst way he could have spent the day. After all, he hadn't had any chores to deal with, and Gilgamesh had been surprisingly tolerable.

Honestly, it was hard to tell how he felt about Gilgamesh most days. Sometimes they got along alright, sniggering and smirking about stupid inside jokes behind Kirei's back, and other times they were at each others throats- or, more accurately, Cu was at Gil's throat, trying not to wind up with a _slit_ throat.

"It matters not, I doubt it's affected the temperature all that much." Gil sighed. He was fanning himself with a hand, glaring at the ceiling.

"Aren't you from the desert?" Lancer asked, sitting up. His skin was glistening with sweat, arms exposed and tanktop hanging limply off his shoulders. It was rare he showed off any skin, aside from when he was naked. He wasn't as well-built as his stories implied, but he was still pretty toned, his skin a pale gold, sparkling richly just like the rest of him... Lancer shook his head, kicking his brain for thinking like that. Good looks aside, he was still an asshole more often than not. No use in getting caught up in aesthetics. "Shouldn't you be used to this sort of thing?"

"Desert heat is a dry heat," he replied, voice as dry as the sands he spoke of. "I was not built for this humidity."

Cu nodded. It made sense. He just wasn't used to the damn heat, period. It was never this hot and humid back in Ulster. He missed the frigid rains of Ireland... anything was better than sitting in this oppressive church.

Twisting onto hands and knees, Lancer crawled over to the door, looking through the grass for the tape Gil had thrown away. It was sticking out in between some flowers. He picked it up, brushing off the dirt and shuffling back to his spot.

"What was on that thing, anyway?" Cu asked, tossing the tape up and down. Gilgamesh eyed him sourly.

"Music. It's somewhat old now, not to you or I, but in the eyes of the current generation. Songs from around the time when I was summoned. I was rather fond of them. Back then, CDs weren't yet popular, so I put the songs of my preference on a tape. I haven't listened to them in years." He was suprisingly quiet as he spoke, eying the tape with a look of nostalgia evident in his face. Cu looked examined it, looking at it closely. The actual tape part of it seemed to be a little wrinkled, bent over and jammed into the side. Gently, he tugged at it, loosening it up enough to unfold it. Carefully, he smoothed it out, then stuck a finger into the little white gear, twisting it. It clicked a few times, pulling the tape back in and winding it around inside.

"Here you go." he tossed it to Gil. It bounced against his chest before he reached a hand up to snatch it, sitting up to glare at him.

"What did you..." he paused, turning it over, studying it. "You... fixed it?" he seemed skeptical, as though he didn't believe Lancer was capable of such a thing.

"It was just a little tangled is all." Cu shrugged. "Put it in, see if it works."

Gilgamesh frowned, but nonetheless he got up, pressing a button on the radio and sliding the cassette inside. Cu got to his knees, shuffling over to see how it worked. It just went into a little slot, which clicked closed again. Gil pressed down another switch, one with a little white triangle on it. It stayed down, and the radio went quiet.

Lancer realized he was holding his breath, listening intently as the shiny black tape began circling round inside. Then, suddenly, it crackled to life, a low, staticky voice crooning from the speakers. He grinned, and Gilgamesh laughed. Cu looked up at him, realizing how close they both were now. Faces only inches from each others, hairs brushing together. In the dark, it was getting hard to make out his features, but he could still see his eyes, glowing like flames in the setting sun. he smelled like sand and sweat, every bit the desert king Cu had read about.

Slowly, carefully, Cu leaned in. His lips brushed against Gilgamesh's, soft, experimental. They had done things to each other before, but kissing, that was not one of them. Carefully, he pulled back, trying to get a reading of his face. The evening shadows had finally consumed it. Without warning the temperature had dropped, plunging the world into a evening chill- the space between them was burning up though.

"Well?" Gilgamesh scoffed. "Are you just going to sit there like a dumbstruck pup, or are we going to continue?"

"Pup?" Cu laughed. "I ain't a dog, but I'm _definitely_ no pup."

And with that, the burning space between them was no more.


	2. Perfect Blue

Gilgamesh has never really had a preference for the color blue. In his day blue was expensive, it was a color preserved strictly for royalty, and even then he rarely saw it other than in the vast sky above. That was a pale blue, and clear blue- and the waters, they were a much greener blue. Not like Lancer.

Lancer is a walking shock of color, regardless of what he is wearing. The same startling eyes as his own, but that hair- the brightest blue he has ever seen. It would be unfathomable, in his time- the man would have been seen as some sort of god, or perhaps a demon, with such long hair so rich in color.

As he crouches over the man, pinning him beneath him, he can't help but run his fingers through that hair. Lancer is smirking, even as he lies in the position of prey, and Gilgamesh purrs, sinking down to lie across his chest. His hair is long and soft, perfect ribbons of blue. He watches as it slides down through his grasp, spilling across the floor in gentle coils.

He does not think it's fair that a mongrel such as him could have such beauty, even if he is divine. Lancer is still a dog, but he looks like he was carved from some precious stone, smooth skin with the same warmth as the sun, sparklingly iridescent despite his atrocious taste in garb. Gilgamesh wonders if he even knows how unfairly beautiful he is, how strong the urge to watch him crumble really is. He wants to tarnish him, see how much it takes it make him break- he wants to throw him at the wall and hold him there, cave him in and hollow him out, taste him and own him and show him once and for all where his place really is.

Lancer cups his head in his hands, bringing it down so he can kiss him. He is a lot like a fire, a warm glow that bursts into uncontrollable flames without a moment's warning. He burns hot, charring Gilgamesh's insides, and he wonders at what temperature gold starts to melt.


	3. The Sound of Waves

**the sound of waves**

x

* * *

x

"You know what one of my favorite things is?" Lancer asks, looking up at Gilgamesh from his spot on the floor. It is another summer day, nowhere near as painfully humid as some of the others have been. There is a large shell in his hand, something he snagged while fishing, and he is turning it about as though it is some sort of jewel.

"No," Gilgamesh replies, not showing interest with a question but allowing space for the dog to continue. He does.

"The sound of waves, when you put a seashell to your ear." Lancer grins.

Gilgamesh smiles slightly, amused. Such a simple and childish joy, and yet it does not seem out of place for him. He studies the shell, its ridges and curves as it coils in on itself, spiking out along its edges. Sea creatures certainly knew how to adorn themselves- survival was not a fool's game, and aquatic life had turned protective measures into an art.

"It is not waves, Lancer." he informs the man, leaning back on his arms. "You can hear the same sound if you cup your hands over your ears- it's the sound of blood rushing, bounding back from the inside of the shell." A smirk tugs at his lips at his eyes the tie-dyed man. He doesn't wear his armor around the house as much as he used to, and though he pretends he does not notice, he does. "Surely even _you_ should know that a single shell could not contain its own ocean." He cannot help but smirk. He expects Lancer to scowl, and he does, but it is not one of disappointment and surrender.

"What makes you say that?" he asks, tossing the shell at him. Gilgamesh catches it, instinctively. It is rough against his hands, crannies created by years of rolling in the sands, its insides pearly smooth. "You can summon forth an infinite chain from a bunch of floating portals. We were brought here by a cup. You aren't in any position to be saying what is and isn't possible."

"There are simple explanations for those," Gilgamesh retorts, but Lancer cuts him off, a mischievous glint in his dark red eyes.

"Yeah, magic. There's an infinite amount of realities out there, right?"

"Are you implying that this shell holds an alternate reality within it?" Gilgamesh scoffs- he snorts, actually, but he tries to pass it off as a scoff. Lancer smiles coyly, reaching back for the shell- a simple thing but a treasure in its own right, if its value was weighed by sentiment -he tosses it once more, before placing it on the ground.

"Sure. At least, for the crab that was living in it."

Gilgamesh blinks. Lancer's gaze is unshakeable, a shimmer of pride dancing through his irises, disguised as shifting light. He could easily argue the inaneness that was Lancer's point, but he can't bring himself to. The dog has a point. Stranger things have existed than an ocean in a shell, and stranger things exist even still. Who is he to dispute such a thing?

Lancer is a simple man, but even in that simplicity, he can still see the world for all it is worth. It is a different set of lenses and a different sort of clarity than that which Gilgamesh views life through, but a view nonetheless.

He's missed being able to talk like this. He lives for the thrill and loves a good debate, but sometimes it is nice just to converse.

With a soft chuckle, he leans forward, pressing a kiss to the edge of Lancer's mouth. He looks up, almost startled, warmth emanating from his face as Gilgamesh pulls away.

"What was that for?" he asks, hesitant, as though expecting some follow-up attack of a harsher nature. Gilgamesh smiles gently, though his eyes are still narrowed in a playful manner.

"Nothing, I was just struck with the whim and decided to follow it." He shrugs his actions away, a long slow blink conveying his lack of concern. When he opens his eyes, Lancer is there, still warm, returning the favor. Gilgamesh allows it, as Lancer cups his face in his hands, waves rolling softly in his ears. His eyes close, and he lets the sea swallow them both.


	4. Look This Way

Technically, the garden belongs to the church, but that's only because it's on church property. Before Lancer was 'reassigned Masters', the only thing back here was a patch of dry, weed-ridden dirt. The flower boxes in the front were more like rotting trowels, full of empty beer cans and cigarette butts. Oddly enough, those disappeared once Lancer took over the yard.

Gilgamesh has reclined in the hammock that the dog set up for himself a few feet from the flowerbeds. It's a remarkably nice summer day, the sky a soft and shimmering blue, with wisps of clouds floating lazily by. A cool breeze is coming off the ocean, wafting through the city and prompting the colorful petals to stir. They dance casually, bobbing back and forth around Lancer's fingers without a care in the world. Gilgamesh is trying to ignore him, but he's not making it easy.

It's not that Lancer is doing anything in particular; merely being his usual, rambunctious self. He hums a jaunty tune, occasionally muttering words beneath his breath, only for them to be carried by the breeze to where Gilgamesh lies. Even if he were silent, however, it would not be enough to keep him from the king's mind.

Lancer is loud, if not in volume then in presence. As if his hair, startlingly blue and long enough to snap like a whip when he turns, was not enough to draw attention to himself, his wardrobe has the potential to render lesser men blind. That wretched 'Aloha-shirt', the unholy offspring of tie-dye and Hawaiian floral print, soaked in neon and then slapped together with a pair of all-too-tight leather pants... truly the man is a sight to behold. He is like a parrot, strutting the streets of the city in order to display his brilliant plumage, in hopes of attracting a mate. Or a flock of mates.

So far, his attempts have not been fruitful. This comes as a relief to Gilgamesh, for reasons he cannot comprehend (or perhaps, does not _want_ to comprehend). Birds of a feather flock together, as they say, and if that is the case, then it seems Lancer must be of an entirely different species than those he struggles to court...

He _is_, though, Gilgamesh reminds himself, as he lies on his side and watches the man tend to the garden. Hands that cannot callous gently place clods of dirt into the ground, packing them into place and moving onto the next. Every time he shifts, his earrings dangle and swing, glaring in the sun. Lancer's hums have turned to whistles, and continue to skip clumsily between the two whilst he continues his work. For all the world he seems not to harbor a single care, and yet Gilgamesh can almost see the dark clouds that circle round above his head.

It's all in his eyes- or rather, beneath them, in the bruise-like circles that just don't go away. Lancer plays the part of laid back fisherman rather well, even with his temper, but there is no escaping the exhaustion that lies beneath the facade. He is tired. He works more jobs than Gilgamesh cares to keep a count of, drowns himself in alcohol and nicotine, and then passes out at the pier or in the park. All to keep himself away from the church.

The garden is the only place that is his, and even then, it is borrowed space, from a man that he detests no less. The pier may be his turf, but it does not belong to him any more than it does the others who spend their afternoons there. Lancer may find solace in his flowers, but at the end of the day he cannot escape the fact... he is a bird of a different breed. He is alone.

To the gates of Hell and beyond, Gilgamesh would defend his honor against any suggestion that he understood the mongrel's feelings... but even so, there is a nagging little piece of him buried deep inside that won't let him truly believe it.

Two-thirds a god, and only one-third a human: created as an instrument for the needs of others... though Lancer could never truly understand how he feels, there is something in their isolation that strikes an old and rusty chord in his lonely soul. There are few in this world that will ever truly understand them, and fewer still who would care to try. They are both alone in their own ways, and there is a sort of solidarity in that.

Gilgamesh sprawls across the woven ropes, finding satisfaction in the way his weight causes them to leave imprints on his skin- proof of their realness, and his own. Another breath of wind breezes by, tousling his hair, and he watches it glide beneath the petals of the flowers, making them flutter up like flowing skirts. Sunny yellows, loud pinks, bright purples, and other mottled shades make up the rainbow of the garden. Lancer turns his head ever so slightly to the side, and despite the bags Gilgamesh can see his eyes glowing with pride. It is an accomplishment, no matter how small, and it is his.

"Well done." Gilgamesh commends his efforts, and Lancer jolts a bit, hair snapping when he looks over at him. Lost in his own thoughts, it seems he hadn't realized he had an audience. Gilgamesh's mouth parts, a serpent's smile upon his face. He watches Lancer with narrowed eyes, amused by the rigidness of his frame, the hesitance in his gaze- a deer caught in the headlights, not sure what it's next move ought to be.

"How long've you been here?" The gardener asks gruffly, running a hand through his hair, not seeming to care that his nails are caked with dirt.

"Awhile now. I hadn't realized you were so absorbed in your work." Gilgamesh chuckles, smiling slyly. "You have quite the green thumb."

"Well, it ain't no Midas touch, but it's better than nothin I guess..." Lancer replies awkwardly, not quite meeting Gilgamesh's gaze. His face is still glistening with sweat from his labor, but his cheeks are turning red, embarrassed by the compliment. A shy dog is not one he is used to, but he welcomes new things.

"I guess the Midas touch is more of your thing though, huh." Lancer stretches, on his feet now. He is only slightly taller than Gilgamesh at full height, but from this angle he towers over him, casting a shadow as he walks over. "Or whatever it's called. Golden Touch?"

"Golden Rule," Gilgamesh says, absent-minded. He's a little distracted, tracing Lancer's form with his eyes, squinting at the sun as it glares behind the man, peering out in wriggling rays to give him a holy look. It's fitting, for the child of a sun god- lose the Hawaiian shirt, and he might actually look the part.

The image of Lancer without a shirt, loose white robes with multi-colored trim flowing around his waist, adorned with golden ringlets round his neck and arms, enters Gilgamesh's mind, and then he is the one to turn red. Lancer rarely wears his hair down, but Gilgamesh likes it when he does. It accentuates his beauty, framing his face as it tumbles down over his shoulders, scruffy enough to look wild but silky enough to be elegant. He really is a beautiful man. It is not right that Lancer is not his.

Lancer stands at the side of the hammock, and Gilgamesh grabs him by the collar. The dog is startled, tensing as the king pulls him down. Gilgamesh rolls to the side, making space so that he can easily climb atop Lancer. It is not fair for mongrels to be so pretty, it really isn't.

He kisses him, first on the mouth, then the sides of it. He kisses him along the jaw, under his chin, down his throat. He feels Lancer's breaths fluttering in there, a gentle whimper when he kisses harder, cutting off his airway for a moment. He kisses his neck, nibbling at it, tasting the sweat and the earth mingling on his skin. It's disgusting and sweet all at once, and he bites down, sucking hard. Lancer jerks, surprised, but he doesn't resist. Gilgamesh wonders if he's just too tired to fight it, or if he's actually enjoying it. Something hard is pressing against his stomach, so he's assuming it's the latter. He grins against Lancer's skin. It should not matter whether Lancer likes it or not, and it doesn't, not really, but something about it makes Gilgamesh want him more.

He moves back to the mouth, kissing Lancer hard, teeth knocking against each other before he manages to get his tongue in. Lancer is warm, and he tastes like fish, like the air down at the pier. He licks the roof of his mouth, biting at his tongue, wanting to taste his blood. Lancer is whining, struggling to undo the button on his pants, kissing back clumsily in his distraction. Gilgamesh smirks into his mouth, biting down harder, forcing choked sounds up Lancer's throat. He reaches down, grabbing at his crotch through his leather pants, squeezing hard. Lancer writhes, grinding desperately against him, and Gilgamesh moves to bite his other shoulder- digging his teeth in and sucking, leaving marks. He bites too hard, tasting more blood, but it only makes it better. A mongrel should not taste this good, should not arouse so many feelings within him. He does though, and it is maddening.

"Kirei's gonna hear us..." Lancer groans thinly, trying to catch his breath. "He's gonna come out and see us."

"He won't care," Gilgamesh pants, grinding into Lancer, stifling a purr. "I'm sure he'd find it amusing, if he spared it a second glance." This makes Lancer's face burn redder, and Gilgamesh grins, kissing him again, softer this time. He would like to melt against him. Coat him in gold, preserve that priceless expression so that he can look upon it whenever he pleases. But then he wouldn't be able to see those warm eyes or feel the softness of his hair. Gilgamesh runs his fingers through it, feeling it's silkiness glide against his skin. Warmth and softness do not last, and to try and keep them is to sacrifice something greater than what will be gained. Perhaps there will come a time when he will find a way to hold onto a moment forever, but for now he will let things stay as they are.

He kisses Lancer once more, letting himself lie upon his chest. Lancer whines, still thrusting against him, not appreciating the thought of being left hanging. Gilgamesh laughs, glancing up at him with a smirk.

"And here I thought you'd be tired out by your gardening."

"You can't just get the engine started and leave it running, it's a waste." The dog whines, and suddenly, he has Gilgamesh by the chin, pulling his face closer and kissing him hard. Their breath mixes and Gilgamesh cannot stifle the gasp that slips from his throat, as Lancer's hand snakes beneath his shirt, pressing firmly into his back.

Gilgamesh can't stop himself from melting, arms wrapping around Lancer's neck, kissing him deeply beside the fluttering petals of the garden.


	5. Candy

"Have you ever heard of a pocky game?" Cu asked, munching another stick as he studied the colorful box. It had been a few months since his residence at the church had become something close to permanent, but it always amazed him how many things there still were that he didn't know about yet. Mostly just types of food or forms of entertainment he didn't need to know to get by. Because really, was it necessary for a Servant to know all the different brands of cup noodles there were? Or the different flavors of chocolate bars? It wasn't really important information, but it was kind of fun- if there was always something new to learn, life would never get too boring.

Gilgamesh paused in his rummaging, turning away from the cupboards to give Cu a withering look, which stated very clearly, 'I have been here for over ten years, of course I know what that inane thing you just mentioned is, you mongrel'- his usual response to stupid questions. Cu took another bite, enjoying the chocolate coating. He liked chocolate. It hadn't existed in his homeland, when he'd been alive, so he'd never gotten a chance to try it until now- and he definitely loved it. Putting it on cookies made it even better.

"What is it?" Cu asked, reaching into the box for another piece. He'd snagged it on his way back from work, when he was picking up cigarettes. He'd gotten his paycheck a few days early, and decided to just grab what he needed on the way home. He liked chocolate, and he liked cookies, but he'd never seen them in stick form before, so he'd decided to splurge and give them a try. So far, he was enjoying them.

"What is what?" Gil sighed, looking back at him, seeming impatient. It was a rather cool day, a fresh breeze flowing through the house, but Gilgamesh was still dressed down, wearing a t-shirt instead of his usual long sleeved, or a jacket. It was always a little weird seeing him all casual- even if Cu had seen it more than a dozen times by now, it always seemed a bit alien. Gilgamesh was just a naturally formal person, he supposed. Even that biker jacket he liked to wear was more stylish than anything Cu owned.

"The pocky game. How do you play?" He asked again, shaking the box a bit. On the back, it had said something about being 'perfect for the pocky game', but it didn't give any further description. Gilgamesh came over to the table, looking at the box.

"It is a game for children. Or teens, I suppose." He pulled a stick from the box, and placed it in his mouth, biting down gently and letting it stick out, pointing down at Cu. "It is a game for two. Both parties bite down on one end, and try to see how close they can get without snapping the stick in two."

"Aaaah, it's one of those kissing games." Cu grinned, chuckling. He'd heard of those sorts of things, stuff like 'spin the bottle', games kids made up as excuses to get closer to each other. "Cute. Didn't know they made snacks just for that."

"I doubt they were made with a game in mind." Gilgamesh tssked, crunching the pocky in his mouth. "Children simply saw an opportunity to humiliate one another, and took advantage of it."

"That's a real negative way to look at a game about candy, Gil." Cu snorted. Awhile ago, he might have been annoyed by the man's attempts to twist such an innocent thing into a 'dark look at humanity', but at this point it was just amusing. He was used to it by now. Gilgamesh chuckled a bit, drawing another piece of pocky from the box. As Cu glanced down, he realized it was the last one. "Oi, put that back, you got your freebie."

"You've eaten the entire box on your own, Lancer, you won't let me have more than one?" Gilgamesh smirked at his stinginess, not making any effort to put the pocky back.

"I paid for this with my own pay check, I can eat as much as I want." He grunted, about to snatch it back. Then, he got an idea, and grinned. "Alright, I got it, how 'bout we split it?"

"How generous of you, Lancer." Gilgamesh replied sarcastically. He made like he was going to snap it in half, before Cu grabbed his wrist.

"No, not like that." He shook his head, snatching the pocky back before Gil could give him hell for touching him without permission, or something like that. Then he stuck it between his teeth and grinned. "Like thish!"

Gilgamesh stared at him in the same way he would stare at an actual dog- unamused, and a little annoyed.

"What sort of fool do you take me for, Lancer?" He asked. "Do I look like a teenager to you? Or do you still have the mind of one?"

"Oh come _on_, don't be a stick in the mud!" Cu laughed. "It'll be fun. Unless you're scared of losing at a game for kids?" He smirked. Gilgamesh was not taken in by this challenge- he looked an unfazed as before.

"If that was your attempt at riling me, you'll have to do better than that." He mused.

"Alright then, I guess I'll just finish this myself. I'm sure Kotomine still has some tofu in the fridge that'll taste just as good." Cu sighed, giving Gilgamesh a knowing look as he reclined back in his seat. At this, the king finally faltered. Cu had seen him going through the shelves, looking for anything that wasn't the usual slop that served as breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Even if they didn't need to eat much, it was the thought of the stuff- the taste and scent that lingered everywhere after a while, that really got to you. Try as he may to be above it, even Gil wasn't safe from the red hell of mapo.

"Alright then, dog. I will play your game." Gilgamesh sat down across from him, and leaned forward without another word. Trying not to grin too much, Cu followed suit.

It was a bit more difficult than he had anticipated. The pocky was fairly brittle, and easy to snap if he moved his head around too much. If there was one thing this was good for, it was shutting each other up. Though he wasn't sure he'd ever be able to get Gil to play it with him again, after this. He didn't seem to care for games that weren't of his own invention, from what Cu had observed. Especially not games where the purpose was to make him do something silly and childish. But if Gil could get his kicks by putting Cu in uncomfortable situations, he didn't see anything wrong with a quick role reversal.

Gilgamesh was good. Cu had expected him to just snap the thing in half on his first bite, to get it done with and make off with a snack, but he was taking it slow, carefully breaking off bit by bit, getting closer. It was a bit weird, Cu realized, having their faces so close to each other without actually doing anything. They had kissed plenty of times by now, but whenever that happened, they didn't typically linger in place, staring at each other without movement. There wasn't really any acknowledgement of the closeness, and if there was, it wasn't for long. Gilgamesh did not look particularly uncomfortable, either. Cu wanted to step up his game, but he wasn't exactly sure how to do that- or if he could even have 'game' at pocky. Worst of all, he realized, he could feel his face starting to heat up, as things continued to not go his way. Trying to ignore the embarrassment by focusing on something else wasn't helping either, considering the only thing he could see right now was Gilgamesh's stupid face. He swallowed what bit of pocky he had bitten off, and glared.

"You could cut your losses now, Lancer. I wouldn't judge you." Gilgamesh mumbled quite eloquently around his half of the stick, looking rather smug. How the hell could this guy turn something as simple as the pocky game into a battle for dominance? Nevermind the fact that Cu had started this challenge. Gilgamesh had already claimed it as his own.

"What losses? You think I'm afraid of a little kiss?" Cu replied, speaking carefully, so as not to snap the cookie between his teeth. "You're acting like we've never done somethin' like this before."

"Am I? Then it must just be the lighting that is making your face appear so red." Gil smirked, and moved closer, before Cu could retaliate. His ear were burning. Even when he thought he had the upper hand, he always managed to stumble before he reached the end goal. Could anyone really blame him, though, when his opponent was Gilgamesh? He should have known that a silly little kissing game wouldn't be enough to fluster the guy.

Cu nibbled carefully, not wanting to lose any ground. They kept on getting closer, but the whole time, Cu noticed, Gilgamesh did not take his eyes off of him. He wasn't sure if he should meet his gaze, or ignore it. There was hardly anything at stake, yet Cu was determined not to lose. He wasn't timid about this sort of stuff, he'd been the one to invite Gil to play with him to begin with! The pocky was starting to get soggy between their mouths, the chocolate melting, and Cu knew that soon, they were going to have to make the final move. Unless one of them were to snap it now, the only logical next step would be the last one. Cu swallowed what was still in his mouth, and moved in.

There wasn't any more space in between them. Their lips met for only a moment, brushing softly against each other, before Gilgamesh's tongue darted into Cu's mouth. Cu tried to make some sort of sound, startled, as Gil grabbed him by the shoulder, kissing him deeply. Cu could feel the edge of the table digging into his back, as Gilgamesh pushed into him, tongue sliding against his.

For a moment, Cu just sat there, stunned by the suddenness, letting himself be pushed against the table as the man kissed him fervently. He managed to rise from his stupor, though, and pushed back, grabbing onto Gil's head to hold him in place as he returned the kiss. His mouth still tasted of chocolate, and crumbs from the pocky stick lingered here and there, as their tongues pushed into each other. The middle bit of the cookie, Cu realized, was still in there, getting mushy as they went back and forth, hot breath mingling between them. If he'd felt flushed before, he was worse off now, trying to at least sit up straight, but struggling against Gilgamesh's weight. He pulled back, wanting to catch his breath, but Gilgamesh followed, deepening the kiss even further.

Cu bit his lips, planting one hand against the table to push himself upward, pushing Gil along with him in the process. He needed to come up for air, but Gil didn't seem interested in breathing, licking the roof of Cu's mouth before biting at him. It wasn't that hot out, but Cu felt plenty warm, sweat beading while Gilgamesh kissed him. He couldn't remember a time he'd ever been the recipient of a kiss this fierce. He couldn't remember if he'd ever _given _a kiss this fierce. Gilgamesh all but had him pinned, and Cu was feeling lightheaded, his body prickling with heat.

Gil's tongue slid against his once more, snagging what was left of the pocky. Then, just like that, he retreated, pulling back. Cu collapsed back into his seat, confused, as Gilgamesh rose to his feet, wiping his mouth. He gulped, swallowing the rest of his snack, then smirked, a playfully devious look in his eyes as he turned away. Cu panted, finally able to breathe,

"I win." He chuckled, then off he went, leaving Cu with those two words, and a box of pocky crumbs. Cu swallowed, face still warm. He may not have won, but he definitely didn't feel like a loser.


End file.
